Flashback
by Animaltalker
Summary: A case dredges up memories for Munch


DISCLAIMER: I don't own John Munch or Odafin Tutuola, if I did they'd see a lot more screen time than they currently do.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Many of the references in this piece are to specific events referred to in SVU episodes or Homicide: Life on the Streets episodes. I've just seen fit to fill in some gaps.

Time was a strange thing, it could drag when you were doing things you hated, and fly when you were enjoying yourself, and it could suddenly telescope because of sights and sounds. Right now it was definitely doing the latter for a certain NYPD detective.

John Munch was not someone who usually "lost it" at a crime scene, granted he'd seen some pretty gruesome things. He'd been there the day Abraham's children had been slaughtered, and he'd also slipped in the blood of his own partners outside Pratt's Baltimore hotel room, forcing him to trip over their bodies; but this was the first time he'd frozen up at a scene, and then had to go and puke his guts out.

"John, man you OK?" Fin asked his ashen-faced partner.

"Do I look OK?" Munch answered in a shaky but angry voice.

"Well, as a matter of fact, no," Tutuola answered, now almost sorry he'd shown concern for his ungrateful partner.

"Why the hell did they call us out on this? It's not a Special Victims case, it's a plain old suicide," John remarked.

"I asked the same thing, the unis said they found this letter, and thought maybe we should be called in."

Fin handed John a form letter on New York Public School letterhead. The gist of the letter was that some children at the local middle school had made allegations of sexual assault, and it was being looked into by the administration. There wasn't any mention of police involvement in the letter.

"So, was he the perp or just a parent who went over the edge at the thought that his child was molested?" John asked, seeming to have regained his composure.

"Guess that's what we're here to find out," Fin answered.

Just then a uniformed cop came out of the brownstone where the crime scene was, John motioned for him to come over to them.

"Who found the body?" he asked, trying hard to act like a seasoned detective, instead of a rookie at his first homicide.

"The guy's twelve year old son, kid's named David," the young officer answered sadly.

"Son of a bitch," John said angrily, but softly. "Where's the kid now?"

"The mother whisked him away to the relatives on Long Island. Why?"

"You got a name and address?" Munch asked the confused young officer.

"Yeah sure, but why?" The uni asked and looked at Fin for clarification

"Just give it to me, and don't waste time," Munch said sharply.

As soon as he had the the relative's address, John headed for the car.

"Munch, what the hell are we doing?" Fin asked.

"We aren't doing anything. I'm going to go visit the boy, you stay here and investigate the molestation angle," John ordered.

"Whoa, whoa, wait a minute," Fin said grabbing the car door as John opened it. "You're gonna explain what's going on to me, or I ain't letting you go nowhere. Now, first off, how come you reacted so bad to that scene, and why are you all of a sudden charging off like you gotta go rescue this kid or something?" Fin asked.

John looked at his partner for a moment, and realized he wasn't going anywhere until he explained his recent behavior. He wearily sat down sideways on the front seat of the car, putting one foot up on the running board, leaving the other on the asphalt of the street.

"When I walked in on that scene, it took me back about 40 years, to when my father committed suicide. He did it the same way, same location in the house even. I was the kid who came home from school and found my father's brains splattered all over the wall of the dining room," John was trying to get the words out past the tears that he was trying to choke back.

"And I never got to tell him I was sorry for what I had said the night before, that I didn't really mean it. I didn't hate him. I loved him. I wanted to be just like him, that's why I was being a wise ass, 'cause my Dad had this really sharp wit, and everyone loved that about him," Munch was winding down, running out of steam.

Fin wasn't sure exactly what all of John's rambling meant, but he knew pain when he heard it. He hesitated a moment, not sure how John would react, but he felt that his partner really needed a hug, because right now, John Munch wasn't a 53 year old man, but young boy reliving the horror of finding his father's dead body. Fin moved around the car door and stood in front of John, taking his head and shoulders into his hands, Fin drew John into his midsection. He stroked his hair with one hand and rubbed his shoulders with the other.

"It's OK John. Dads know that their kids don't mean that crap. I'm sure he knew you loved him," Fin said.

"Then why'd he do it? Why'd he shoot himself? What was so bad that he couldn't have toughed things out for Bernie and me? God, Bernie was just six years old," John wailed.

"I don't know John, no one knows what goes on inside someone else's mind, what personal demons are tormenting them. He may have been in a lot of pain that you couldn't see and he just couldn't handle it anymore," Fin tried to explain, but felt really helpless.

"Yeah, I've thought about that, that's why I've never wanted kids. I mean as much as I like the little rug rats, I wouldn't want to let one of them down the way my Dad did Bernie and me. Speaking of which I've got to go help that boy David," John said.

"How?" Fin asked.

"By letting him know that he's not alone and that it's not his fault. That everything he's feeling, all the sadness and anger are normal, giving him someone safe to talk to, who won't judge him or think he's going to break into a thousand pieces," John said.

"Who thought you'd break into a thousand pieces, your mama?" Finn asked.

John put his finger on his nose to indicate Fin had guessed correctly.

"My mom, God love her, is a cliché, the typical overprotective Jewish mother. If she could have wrapped me in cotton batting at birth and kept me that way until I was 21, she would have," John explained.

Fin grinned, "That type of attitude ain't exactly restricted to Jewish mamas."

John nodded.

"John, don't you think maybe you ought to leave talking to David to the pros?" Fin asked cautiously.

"Who? Someone like Huang or Skoda or Olivet?" John threw out the names of various psychiatrists they'd worked with over the years.

"Well, …" Fin started to respond.

"Forget it, official credentials aren't what this boy needs. He needs someone who understands. I promise, I won't push too hard and if I think I'm not doing him any good, I'll leave."

"OK, but what about if you're not doing yourself any good. Will you leave then too?" Fin asked.

"Yeah, I'll leave then too," he promised. Fin hesitated, but John looked at him with an unspoken plea to trust him. Fin finally stepped back, letting John swing his legs into the car and shut the car door.

John turned the ignition on, and then powered down the window and leaned out.

"Fin, thanks, you're a good partner, partner."

Fin smiled. "Take it easy John."


End file.
